Chapter Twenty-Eight

Luc

I watched Ivy pace the room. There was no talking to her right now. She was deep in her mind. Not even Logic could reach her.

In the end, I told everyone to just give her space.

Her brother watched from the corner of the room, eating an apple, his eyes glued to Ivy.

Everywhere she went, his eyes followed.

It was fucking creepy.

"Ignore him. We all do," Montana said, getting my attention as he too, watched Ivy pace. "Fuck me. Guess I don't need a DNA test for those two. They look alike."

I noticed that too.

I didn't like it.

Looking at a recent picture of Devlin Scott, I couldn't get over how much both of them resembled their tormentor. Malice was the spitting image of his father, while Ivy was the softer female version of the sick son of a bitch.

"What can you tell me about this bastard?"

Montana took a deep breath. "Well, he owns and operates a highly exclusive BDSM Club called the Trick Pony in Miami, Florida. He's a pedophile, rapist, and a sadist. Ain't happy unless he's inflicting pain. He likes to torment his victims before he kills them. Gets off on it. He's been trying to bring Malice to heel for years. Fucker wants Malice to take over the club when the time comes."

"What does Malice want?"

Montana chuckled. "Malice wants that bastard on the cross while he slowly, methodically, and painstakingly tortures the fucker to death. That's one of the few things Malice has in common with his genetic material. Malice likes to play with his victims before he kills them."

I nodded. "Ivy's the same way. She took on five Los Santanas all by herself before my brothers stepped in. She smiled the entire time. She was toying with them. Sliced a fucker's hand off just like it was nothing, before she jabbed her knife deep into his throat. Didn't even blink."

Shaking his head, Montana added, "They are a pair, aren't they?"

Looking at the brooding fucker, I asked, "He knows Ivy's mine?"

"Yep."

"That gonna be a problem?"

"Don't think so. Malice isn't like the rest of us. He only cares about two people in this world. Father Dominic and our club's bartender, Silver. They have history."

"You sure about that?" I stated jumping to my feet as Malice moved fast when Gunny rushed in from the back, heading straight for Ivy.

"Shit!" Montana shouted, quickly moving to intercept the big guy as I shoved a table out of my way to get to Ivy. Of course, I should have known that my woman was more than capable of taking care of herself because the second Malice reached for Gunny, Ivy pushed the old man away and didn't hesitate to grab Malice's arm, using his weight, she pole-vaulted herself up and around his shoulders, using her legs to twist herself around before bringing her brother to the ground, her knife at his neck.

"No one touches Gunny," she sneered, sliding her knife against Malice's neck, drawing blood.

"Get the fuck off me," her brother growled.

Pushing off him, Ivy stood, walking into Gunny's arms.

Glaring at Montana, the man sighed. "Okay. Maybe three people."

"I am not stitching up any more brothers," Dr. Lansing clipped, walking into the room, wiping his hands with a rag when Ivy rushed over to him.

"Pyle?"

The doctor smiled at my woman. "He will live."

Ivy threw herself into his arms, hugging him while I growled.

Releasing her, Gunny grabbed the back of her shirt, pulling her away from the doctor.

Turning to face me, the doc added, "You are down five brothers, Mr. Hawk. Pyle and ALF are the worst. They are going to be out of commission for weeks, if not months. ALF is the worst. A bullet nicked his aorta. If it wasn't for the quick thinking of your prospect, ALF would have died before I could have even gotten to him. Pyle took a shot in the gut. The bullet fragmented and bounced around, causing quite a bit of damage. I had to remove his gallbladder and appendix. UTAH took a bullet to the left side. It was a through and through. KROD and TBAR only had superficial wounds that needed to be stitched. They should be fine by tomorrow. Your VP, Frost, took a bullet to his left leg. It nicked the femoral artery. He's lucky to be alive. Razor, Puck and Pinball all have various gunshot wounds, but none are life threatening."

"You forgot one, Doc," I said, stepping forward. "Hannibal."

Confused, the doc looked around the room before adding, "I didn't work on anyone called Hannibal, Luc. Just those that were wounded when we arrived."

"He's right, Luc." Saint stood. "Hannibal wasn't one of the wounded."

"Where the fuck is he, then?"

"He wasn't there when I walked outside before the attack," Ivy admitted, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. That motherfucker never left his spot. It was his job to guard the door. He was the first defense against any shit that came at us.

"Mouth?" I growled, turning to my bartender, who was already on his phone, walking away while he made a call.

I didn't like where my head was going.

Not one fucking bit.

I didn't like having the Soulless Sinners in the clubhouse.

There wasn't a motorcycle club around that didn't know about them or what they were about. If history was correct, and it generally was, the Soulless Sinners Motorcycle Club's core objective was to adapt, eradicate, and absorb other clubs into their collective.

They'd been doing it since the club's inception.

I knew what the former president of the Soulless Sinners tried to do to the Golden Skulls. Aligning himself with the son of an original founder, only to turn on him when shit went sideways.

They almost succeeded too, if not for Reaper's determination.

Reaper was always the wild card.

No one could control him.

Not even his own club brothers.

To make matters worse, my son and his family were part of Golden Skulls, and, for now, my loyalty lay with the Skulls. However, if push came to shove, I wouldn't think twice before ending all of them.

No one fucked with my family.

Ever.

Now, I had the Soulless Sinners to contend with. I didn't trust Montana and he didn't trust me, but none of that mattered at the moment because we had a fucking sadistic son of a bitch hellbent on acquiring my woman and her brother in any way he could. The fucker was methodical and didn't give two fucks who he killed to get what he wanted. And with a good portion of my brothers down for the count, I didn't have a choice and accepted Montana's help.

I didn't know what it would cost me, but as long as Ivy was free of that sick fuck, I didn't care.

I would worry about the aftermath later.

A knock at the door had me looking up.

Seeing Montana standing there, I waved him in.

Leaving the door open behind him, he took a seat and sighed. "Truth time?"

"All ears."

"I don't want your club."

I smirked. "That's good, because I wasn't going to give it to you."

"But I do have a problem."

"What's that?"

"Sandman."

Schooling my face, I stared at the motherfucker, waiting to see where he was going with this shit. And God help him if he said the wrong fucking thing, because I was not above putting a bullet in his fucking head.

War be damned.

"I know Sandman is your son."

"That's right."

"Recently, I've learned some shit about my club's past that's going to cause a big problem with the Golden Skulls when the truth comes out. Right now, I'm trying to manage the damage done, but I can't hold Reaper off forever. There is a war coming that's going to pit my club against the Golden Skulls and your son."

Leaning back in my chair, I took a deep breath and sighed. "You're talking about that shit with Satan's Angels, right?"

Montana nodded, rubbing his hands down his face in agitation. I got it. The sins of the father followed the son home. Montana may not have started this coming war, but he was going to have to finish it and deal with the aftermath.

War wasn't pretty.

It was messy and bloody.

No one ever really won a war.

Oh, there were survivors, but no clear winner.

"Gotta tell ya, Montana, your old man really screwed your club with that shit."

"That's not even half of the shit my dad started." He grimaced. "Anyway, your son did me a solid when Reaper went off the rails with the Society . I owe him. Honestly, Luc, I don't want a war with the Golden Skulls, but after what Dad did, what he set into place, I don't see a way out of it, and I sure as hell don't want Sandman mixed up in all of it."

"A little late for that, don't you think? You were the one who ordered him to frame Reaper."

Montana snickered. "Yeah. Not my finest moment."

"Solomon is loyal. He won't be easy to persuade once he's made up his mind. Your best bet is to come clean with Reaper and end this shit before it even starts, because if Reaper finds out whatever it is you know before you tell him, then you're fucked."

"It's not that easy."

"This life never is."

Changing the subject, Montana grinned, looking over his shoulder to the door across the hall and asked, "How long do you give them before they try to kill each other?"

Staring at the door myself, I replied, "I'm surprised my clubhouse is still standing."